


alabama pines

by cloudbear



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Romantic Friendship, Swearing, molecular amounts of baberoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudbear/pseuds/cloudbear
Summary: Babe isn't one to break a promise.
Relationships: Babe Heffron & Eugene Roe
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	alabama pines

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt "paying respects"  
thanks to Wally for the beta <3

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

_ the liberties that we can’t do without seem to disappear like ghosts in the air. _

from “Alabama Pines”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

“Stop the car, Gene.”

“What?”

“Pull over,” Babe said, his tone humorless. The rickety Plymouth’s engine quieted as Gene yanked the keys from the transmission with an air of thinly-veiled frustration.

“It’s August in Alabama, Babe. I ain’t walking to the house from this far — Christ, what’s wrong with you?” he asked with a start, at last noticing Babe’s unusually blanched appearance.

“Jeez, I don’t know,” he said defensively. “I’m just starting to think that maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.” Babe made a point of not looking at Gene, instead focusing on the neat rows of houses to his right. He wondered how many other families on this street had lost sons. How many had she watched be reunited with their parents while hers was buried in a cold field an ocean away? What was he here for, anyway? To be another reminder of all that she’d already suffered?

“Hey,” Gene inflected sharply, “I didn’t spend the last six hours in this boiling piece-of-shit car with you just to turn back now.” His tone softened as he reached up and tapped Babe’s temple. “What’s going on up there, Heffron?” 

“I don’t know,” he repeated weakly, flinching away and scraping a clammy finger against the opposite palm in a fit of nerves. “I just can’t imagine what good’s going to come from us being here. What am I supposed to say to her?” He shivered, despite the oppressive heat, only at the thought of knocking on the door.

Gene suddenly reached across the short distance between them and grabbed Babe’s hand. Though when Babe made a move to pull away, Gene’s grip tightened, his gaze unwavering. 

“Listen to me.” Babe reluctantly turned away from the window and met Gene’s eyes. “Nothing you can say is going to make it better. Her son’s dead, and there isn’t anything to be done about it. That isn’t why you came here, though, hm?” 

Babe shrugged, giving the barest shake of his head, and looked away to make himself appear as inconsolable as possible. 

“Come on, humor me. I want you to say it,” Gene said, squeezing Babe’s hand in an attempt to prove the seriousness of his request. A few moments passed before Babe squeezed back.

“I made a promise,” he started, willing the growing lump in his throat into submission. “I made a promise that I’d see his ma if anything happened to him. Shit — ” he choked, “I didn’t think I’d actually have to fucking do it. I never even went back to get his shit. I’m such a goddamn coward, fuck.” This time, Gene let Babe go when he pulled away to press his face into his hands. 

Gene sighed hard through his nose and looked out the window. “We express our deepest regret that your son, John Julian, was killed in action on the first of January in Belgium,” he recited dryly.

“What?”

“That’s everything she knows about her son’s service,” Gene said, trying not to sound bitter for Babe’s sake. “It’s all that the Marines gave her, Heffron. This isn’t just on you.”

Babe finally lifted his head out of his hands, turning to look at Gene expectantly.

“You’re one of the last things she’s got to remember him by,” he went on. “She doesn’t know the jokes, the songs, the stories. That’s the most important shit, but nobody ever bothers to type it into a report, do they? I think,” Gene maintained, “that you talking to her, connecting with her, telling her that you knew her son and that he was your brother, telling her the promise that you made — if I had to guess, I’d say all that would mean a whole lot more to her than a shallow condolence letter and a box of his bloodstained shit.” He grimaced at his own harshness and reached for Babe without looking, reached for some confirmation that he wasn’t out of line. 

Babe’s hand settled over his, and they sat like that in the heat of the car for a few seconds, or maybe a few hours. Gene wouldn’t let Babe thank him; this was all that he needed. If he was feeling extra sentimental, he’d let Babe pay for gas on the way back. 

“Alright,” Babe said, and the Plymouth rumbled to life. They crawled down the street at an unusually slow pace, but he wasn’t going to complain. For the first time since they had set out, Babe let himself think about Julian. It had only been a few weeks into jump school before Babe found himself with a kid brother from Alabama. His virgin kid brother, soon to be gunned down by some faceless Kraut in the freezing cold, who died alone, who died thinking Babe had left him. He couldn’t make up for that — not to Julian’s ma, never to himself. This would have to do for now. Babe distantly recognized that he might be crying, but if he was, Gene said nothing about it. Their hands had never separated.

“I think this is it,” Gene said quietly as they pulled up to the house. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No,” Babe said resolutely. “I can do this.”


End file.
